


Right Back Where I Started

by Kratsayra



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Arya is married to Aegon, Betrayal, Cheating, Dark Character, Dark fic, Don't Like Don't Read, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Fucked Up, I WARN YOU NOW, Plotting, Queen Arya, Scheming, Sex, Westerosi Politics, don't come at me with pitchforks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2020-08-09 22:57:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20125237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kratsayra/pseuds/Kratsayra
Summary: The War has ended and Aegon rules the Seven Kingdoms with Arya by his side. Bran Stark is Warden of the North and the Nights Watch is all but destroyed. Jon never found a place for himself then, and cannot seem to find one now.Especially the one place he has always longed for.





	1. Chapter 1

"To Aegon Targaryen, the sixth of his name! Long may he reign!"

  
"Long may he reign!" The chorus rang throughout the hall.

  
Arya, toasted her husband and threw back the wine in a single gulp, feeling it burn its way down her throat.

  
Aegon sat at her right, beaming at his vassals that drank to his health. To his right sat Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King.

  
The North had gathered at Winterfell, to welcome their King, and the Stark banners decorated the walls along with the Targaryen banners. To honour their Stark Queen, Arya acknowledged, her chest swelling with pride.

  
But the happiness quickly dissipated when her eyes searched but failed to find Jon. He had been there to receive the royal party in the yard earlier that day, but he had inconspicuously vanished after that.

  
Jon had hugged her tight, picking her off her feet and laughing as he turned her around in a circle. Everyone in the yard had stared, but Arya couldn't care less about acting like a proper queen. She rained little kisses all over his face, giggling when he finally set her down. She had missed him, and the north and everything that reminded her of home.

  
The feast went on into the early hours of the day, but Arya retired to her chambers well before that. She had been exhausted from the ride North. Although they had assumed an easy pace, the ride had been hard and riddled with difficulties; and she found deep sleep as soon as her head hit the pillows.

  
She was woken by the soft padding of feet she sleepily recognized as Aegon's. He came to her, as he had done nearly every night at Dragonstone since they had been married. The long travel up north had not permitted quite enough privacy, but he had still found her, his hands fumbling and eager in the dark of her tent, or when they had the luxury of an inn.

  
It had amused Arya that the burning boyish desire that Aegon had for her in Bravos had not diminished even after nearly a year of being married.

  
He climbed into her bed, his arms going around her as he peppered her neck with kisses. Arya sighed sleepily and turned within his arms, her fingers tangling in his long hair as she kissed him soundly, before she pulled back annoyed. She could taste the wine on his lips. "You're drunk."

  
Aegon chuckled and kissed her again, then her nose and forehead. "Not so much, love. It was necessary when my cousins began hounding me."

  
Arya made a face she was sure Aegon couldn't see, Arianne and her cousins had insisted on joining them on their travel up north for some infernal reason, and Arya couldn't still shake off how uneasy it had made her.

  
Taking Arya's silence on the matter as permission to continue, Aegon resumed placing feather light kisses across her jaw and collarbone, his hands sliding down her sides and hips searching for the hem of her nightgown. But Arya could hardly concentrate, not now when her mind was full of distrust for Aegon's Dornish cousins.

  
"I don't trust them," she confided for the hundredth time. Aegon _ mmmh_ against her neck and kissed a trail up to her ear.

  
"Aegon did you hear me?" Arya placed her palm on his chest and shoved him away to ensure that he did.

  
Aegon considered her for a moment, the moonlight from her window striking his purple eyes and blond hair, making him look unearthly and beautiful. Something she didn't deserve, the gods seemed to be telling her.

  
"They are loyal to the crown Arya, you know that. They will never betray me, as sure as I am my mother's son" He took both her hands and kissed them. "Now, no more talk of cousins. I want to make love to you without a mention of them."

  
He pulled her hands above her head and held them there with one hand, his other hand pulling her nightgown up over her head, but not off her arms, effectively binding them above her head.

  
Arya felt a blush creep up her face and neck as his purple eyes studied her body appreciatively in the moonlight.

  
_Stop,_ she wanted to say, but she whimpered instead, and then moaned when his hands followed his impudent gaze. Long fingers tickled her sides, stomach and closed over her breasts, kneading and plucking at her nipples until she was writhing in need.

  
His mouth replaced the fingers, when they travelled south of her body, tracing every curve and dip, feather light as they explored the damp curls between her legs. Hard and unyielding when he parted her and found her ready, wanting.

  
She found herself pushing against his fingers, desperately wanting her release. she would rut his hand if he didn’t fuck her soon. She gasped his name when his tongue finally found her clit, circling the bud before assaulting it.

  
Arya shouted her release, her body shaking as she rode the waves of pleasure, gasping for breath as Aegon sucked her clit still, his purple eyes fixed on her, now nearly black with lust. She kept her eyes on him, _fuck me_ they said. And he did.

  
Hooking her knees over his shoulder he entered her, slicking inside to the hilt so easily, her eyes rolled back. He kept her hands bound on top of her head, as if they might stop him now.

  
He pounded in her, gasping her name like a prayer when she squeezed around him. Her body was still strung too tight, she felt the pleasure building again with every thrust of his cock within her. She knew he was close too, every breath a gasp, his thrusts getting more desperate.

  
A sheen of sweat clung to his chest and she pulled him down for a kiss that drowned out her cry of release, which he quickly followed, spilling himself in her.

  
Aegon wrapped her in his arms, pulling the blanket over their naked bodies and Arya relaxed against his chest. He smelled of the sun and wine and exotic spices, and Arya admitted before she was lulled back to sleep, and maybe like home.

______________________________________________________

Arya found Jon in the godswood, his back resting against the weirwood tree, eyes closed as if deep in sleep. She was proven wrong, when she drew near and Jon’s grey eyes met her own.

  
“Arya”

  
She smiled and sat down beside him, mirroring him in every way, even the tunic and breeches she had put on that morning. “Jon,” she responded and leaned her shoulder against his, “You were missed at the feast last night.”

  
“I’m sorry, I got caught up in some business with the freefolk”

  
Arya stayed quiet, wondering not for the first time, if the 'freefolk' Jon had been caught up with was Val. It was too easy sometimes to forget that they had grown up, fought a war and survived, that some things had changed permanently.

  
_Do you love her?_ she wanted to ask, instead she asked, “What will they do now?”

  
Jon turned away from the weirwood and lay down on the grass, his head nestling on her lap. “The snows have receded and Bran has offered them the New Gift to settle into, but they wish to go back up North, back home where they may start rebuilding.”

  
Arya ran her fingers through the curls on his head absentmindedly, “I suppose that’s the best option for them. Although I will miss Tormund and his booming laugh."

  
Jon chuckled and closed his eyes, looking as peaceful as she had ever seen him.

  
Arya leaned back against the weirwood and closed her eyes as well, feeling like no one could ever touch her here, if she chose to stay forever.

  
She woke with a start, the dream that had frightened her forgotten.

  
_Calm as still water._

  
She slowed her breathing and looked around, the unreasonable panic in her breast subsiding when she saw Jon in the pool. His back was turned to her, but Arya found it strange how he stood in the still water, unmoving and staring out at the setting sun.

  
She shivered as the chill of the evening settled in, the thin fabric of her tunic hardly sufficient protection against the wet mist collecting in the woods.

  
"Jon" she called out to him, her voice sounding small and unsure in the quiet. _Not _ the voice of Arya Stark.

  
He turned to her slightly, the water rippling around his waist, the trail of dark hair on his abdomen pointing downward and disappearing beneath the water to her disappointment.

  
_He's your brother, stupid._

  
But he wasn't, not this man who stared at her with grey eyes not unlike her own, yet lit with a fire she had never seen there.

  
_Never seen, or chosen to ignore?_

  
She knew he had not been the same boy she had left when she had been a girl of nine, and he had taken the Black. That dying at the hands of his brothers and being brought back to life had changed something in her brother in ways she would never comprehend.

  
So, the man before her was another creature, her Jon yes, but much more. A descendant of the Winter Kings of Old and of the Doomed Dragon Lords of Valyria.

  
Not for the first time Arya wondered after being resurrected at the wall, how much of himself Jon hid from the world, from her.

  
She saw the tear rolling down his cheek, and as if this was what she had meant to do from the very start, Arya closed the distance between them and kissed him like a lover.


	2. Chapter 2

There must be something in the water

'Cause everyday it's getting colder

And if only I could hold ya

You'd keep my head from going under

**Jon**

He kissed her, hard and deep, as if the answers to all his problems lay hidden within her. The ache in his chest eased, his naked skin buzzing with awareness.

But when his hands slid down to her hips, pulling her against him urgently, Arya gasped and pushed away as if burned.

She stared at him wide eyed. And for the first time in his life, Arya turned from him and fled.

Jon knew the shame would come, like it always did when he gave in to the monster inside him. This dark, depraved creature who loved and lusted for his sister, his cousin, his brother's wife.

_Seven hells._

No, Aegon wasn't his brother. They may have shared a father, but Jon couldn't bring himself to care for him like one. 

He respected him, even admired how he had managed to put the seven kingdoms back together again after the War. Had supported his claim to the throne over his own, over Daenerys'. But he would never love Aegon like a brother, not when the jealously gnawed at him so deep. 

Jon pulled his clothes on over his wet body and left the godswood. The visit had not helped clear his mind; he didn't know if he _could_ clear his mind of Arya no matter how hard he tried. And he had tried, even keeping himself away from the feast yesterday. It had not been enough though, not when she found him in godswood earlier and his emotions had waged war inside him. He would have to take himself away from her before he finally did something that would make her hate him.

Val stopped him on his way past the great hall. "Jon, we will be ready to depart within the fortnight." She looked him in the eye, her fingers curling around his forearm. "Do you still mean to leave with us?"

"Yes."

"Then you had better say your goodbyes to your king-brother and his wife." Her eyes watched him keenly.

He had taken Val to bed a few times, but it had never been more than that. She had never demanded more than Jon was ready to give, which he was glad for, and she sometimes read his moods better than his men.

"I will talk to them," he tells her, unwilling to let her choice of words provoke a reaction from him.

Taking his leave, Jon wondered how he would break the news of his departure North along with the freefolk to Arya.

He was surprised to find Aegon waiting for him in his solar. 

"Your Grace," Jon said as way of greeting. 

"Aegon, is sufficient. You look terrible Jon," he replied with a wrinkle of his nose and motioned for Jon to sit. He remained standing. 

Jon supposed he did look a sight, with grass stained clothes sticking to his damp body, the curls of his hair wild from the wind and Arya's fingers running through it when she had kissed him...

He studied Aegon. _Did he know? Could he guess?_ Jon felt his face heat up with guilt just as the monster in his belly roared in satisfaction.

He was going mad, he decided finally. 

The Targaryen trait had found him, or perhaps the fact that he had been resurrected by the Red God, twice now.

"I wanted to make an announcement at the feast yesterday, but you were missing. Fuck it Jon, you should have been present at the feast yesterday, it reflects badly, and was considered a slight. Don't think the lords didn't notice." Aegon tried hard to control his voice.

_You mean your cousins were insulted. _

"A dragon doesn't concern himself with the opinions of sheep," Jon said instead. 

"That is bullshit, and you know it." Aegon snapped in irritation. 

"Yes," Jon agreed and sighed, rubbing his hand over his face, the hair on his chin scratching his palm.

Aegon sighed in exasperation. "I need to know that I can count on you Jon. I've considered this a lot, and I think I need to settle the matter of my succession to the throne until I have a son and heir. I'm naming you Prince of Summerhall and hence, Crown Prince. The capital will remain at Dragonstone until Kingslanding is rebuilt and then the seat of Dragonstone can revert back to the heir apparent."

Jon flexed his burnt hand and waited in silence for Aegon to finish.

"I also want you to take a position on the Small Council, Jon. And I wish you to marry and have heirs of your own. I'd like to arrange a betrothal between you and my cousin, Arianne Martell. Summerhall is nearly-"

"No."

"No?"

"No, I don't accept." Jon said evenly.

Aegon's purple eyes flashed in irritation. "Jon no matter what, you _are_ a true born Targaryen and as such, have a duty to the throne. The kingdoms require stability and consistency after everything we've been through. You need to marry-"

"I don't want _anything_, the crown, Summerhall, the small council, or a bride. I plan on going North beyond the Wall with the freefolk." There, he said it.

Aegon shot up from his seat, his hand slamming against the tabletop. "I forbid it."

"You _forbid_ it?" Jon's eyes narrowed, his voice dropping dangerously low.

"Yes, as your king I forbid you from abandoning your duties as Prince and running up North with your Wildling friends. You're not Jon Snow anymore, you're a _Targaryen!_ And damn the seven, if I let you run away from that truth like you've been doing so far. It's about time you claimed what is rightfully yours!" Aegon's voice rose with every sentence.

Mine, _she_ was rightfully mine.

The walls were already crumbling. Feelings, thoughts, opinions. He wasn’t the same man they had bought back to life after being betrayed by his brothers at the wall. With every moment he felt himself change; turn into a creature he could hardly recognize. Killing Ramsay with his bare hands, burning the bodies of his friends, fighting tirelessly for the living, marrying Daenerys Targaryen and then plunging his sword into her heart, each of these things had ripped apart the boy he once was. Leading the victory from the Long Night had felt like the greatest defeat of his life. Jon Snow was dead and they had brought back, yet again, a stranger, a demon raised from the pits of hell.

"Maybe I should." Jon said cryptically. 

Aegon's brows snapped together doubtfully, but then he shook his head and got up, walking to the door. 

"Think about it, Jon," He said and left.

Kill the boy, and let the man be born. Master Aemon had told Jon once.

But that man wanted Fire and Blood.

_______________________________________________________________________________________

**Aegon**

Aegon took the goblet of wine Arianne pushed into his hand and sat himself across the table from her.

"I take your visit with Jon didn't go as well as planned," she said taking a sip from her own goblet. 

Aegon considered his cousin before answering carefully. "He needs time. I'm sure he'll warm up to the idea in time."

Arianne snorted delicately, if that were possible. "This would be so much easier if you only let me handle it."

Aegon glared at her, knowing she was only goading him. Besides, he had been so sure Jon would accept the new position, and the bride that came with it.

Aegon sipped his red Dornish and studied Arianne. Of course, she was beautiful, enchanting some might say. With dark black hair cascading around her shoulders, and smooth dusky skin peeking out from all over the contraption of a gown she wore, even in the cold of the North. He had supposed Jon must be somewhat attracted to her.

His thoughts turned to the unsettling feeling in his stomach when Jon had agreed he should claim his birth right. There had almost been a certain..._hunger_ in his eyes. For a moment Aegon had thought Jon wanted the throne for himself. 

But no, Jon had _had_ the throne _and_ the support of the masses after the war, and then he gone had signed it all off to Aegon. Claiming that Aegon was the rightful heir being elder The Seven Kingdoms had never been what Jon had wanted. 

_What did he want then? _

He wanted to go North, beyond the wall. And live like a goddamn wildling. Aegon had wanted to shake him and demand if he was serious. The people of Westeros would never stand for their hero to be banished beyond the wall like a criminal. Nevermind that was what he wanted.

Maybe it was the Wildling Princess, Val? Did he love her so much he would leave everything behind to join her there? 

"It’s Arya, you know."

"What?"

"She's the one you need to convince. I'm sure she could make him do anything if she put her mind to it." Arianne arched her eyebrow daring him to counter.

But he couldn't. He knew how close his wife was to Jon. She had told him that herself when she had been a girl, wanting to go home to Jon. 

Now, it just irritated him to no end that Jon would always come first to Arya, and she to him. He finished his wine in a long gulp, setting the goblet on the table.

"No, I won't bring Arya into this," he said finally. She would be furious if she even knew he was matchmaking. Her dislike for Arianne wasn't exactly a secret in the Seven Kingdoms. 

Although the scheming of his cousin's mind sometimes even astonished him, Arianne would never betray him. And Aegon didn't share his wife's mistrust on the matter.

And although he would never admit it to Arya, Arianne was a superb strategist, and offered him insightful perspectives on issues he shared with her. Jon was a fool for refusing so nonchalantly. 

"Fine," she pouted and refilled his goblet. "Since we're on the subject, I thought you should know, there is talk among my ladies in waiting..."

Aegon frowned, but gestured for her to continue.

"They were hoping there would be a royal heir soon...Mayhaps your wife is finally carrying a Targaryen prince?" He had to give her credit; she was threading on dangerous territory very carefully.

"I think your ladies need to mind their own damn business. There will be an heir soon enough." _Gods, let it be soon._

"So not yet? Are you sure you're...?" Her eyes dropped down to the front of his breeches meaningfully. 

Aegon wasn't sure whether he should laugh at her implication or be offended. He settled on not reacting to the obvious jibe on his potency. 

"I'm sure." His voice betrayed his amusement. 

Taking that as encouragement to continue she went on, "Then do you suppose Arya is-"

"Enough!" Aegon stood abruptly, "I'd caution your ladies to hold their tongues, Arianne. I won't tolerate gossip of this sort about the Queen." 

Arianne was wise enough to nod quietly. Aegon knew the gossip would start soon enough. He just didn’t know it had started already. 

He was sure Arya would bear his children; it was just taking time. Not long now, he knew his seed was bound to quicken in her womb soon, it had to.

Arianne touched his arm lightly. "I apologize Aegon. I'm sure the Queen will bear you a healthy son very soon."

Aegon sipped his wine quietly, praying she was right.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

**Arya**

She knocked on the door of his chamber, but there was no answer. Arya rapped it again, more loudly. Jon was going to let her in, dammit.

He had skipped dinner today as well, and if anyone had missed his absence yesterday, they had certainly caught on today. 

The northern lords had seemed unbothered by the fact that Jon had not deigned it necessary to be present at the dinner table to host the King and Queen, especially when Bran Stark had filled the position of gracious host just as well; but the southern lords were not so kind, and there were murmurs around the table.

Aegon had gritted his teeth and taken to gulping down wine in anger, and Arya left the Great Hall in disgust, unwilling to sit and watch her husband drown himself in the Dornish Red he had developed a taste for. She had been aghast when she had seen the barrels, they had brought with them in the carts all the way from Dorne.

There was long pause and the doors stood stubbornly closed. Arya banged her fist on the door and called out. "Jon open the fucking door! I'm not leaving until I've spoken to you." When there was still no reply, she threatened, "I'll stay her all night if I have to."

The latched turned and the door swung open slowly, and Arya slipped inside. Jon leaned against the edge of the table in his solar, his tunic untucked from his breeches and gaping open in the front, exposing his throat and chest.

"More freefolk business keeping you away?" Arya inquired raising one eyebrow, daring him to lie to her again.

Jon shrugged. "I wasn’t hungry."

Arya folded her arms in front of her chest. "It's an insult to Aegon, and it's insult to his Lords. I don't need to tell you this Jon. You know you're offending a lot of people."

"Did he send you?"

"What? No, stupid. I came because I'm worried."

"About what, Aegon offering me Arianne Martell in marriage or my plans to go North with the Wildlings?" Jon asked crossly.

"You're _what_? I- what are you even talking about?" _Marry Arianne? What the hell?_

Jon shook his head, "Aegon wants to secure a royal marriage for his cousin, so he'll shackle her to me. And give me Summerhall as payment. But I've already made up my mind to go North of the Wall with the freefolk. I can’t stay here Arya, not like- not like this."

Arya's eyes widened, "What do you mean you'll go North? Are you going to leave Winterfell forever?"

Jon's hard eyes softened. "I need to get away. Find some peace if I can. I can't let them pull me back into these games anymore Arya. I need- I need..."

Despite the warning bells in her head she went to him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she held him close.

"It’s okay," she found herself saying. _No, no, please don’t leave me here alone._

Her fingers buried in the curls at nape of his neck and she steadied her breath before assuring him. "It's okay, do what you need to Jon. Aegon will understand, I'll make him see. I will always stand by you."

Jon pulled back slightly, one hand rested against her neck, the other against her hip and his eyes bore into hers, searching her soul. "I wish they did not bring me back the second time. I have never been the same, not since the day I woke up and kissed you under the heart tree Arya."

_She had married Aegon under the weirwood that day, still only a month after the War had ended and they had put Jon to rest in the crypts of Winterfell. Arya had slipped out of the wedding feast, unable to enjoy the celebrations when the hurt and loss was still so close. _

_Her legs had carried her to the godswood unconsciously and she froze when she found Jon under the heart tree, naked as the day he was born, his body smoking as if burnt, and his eyes glowing like polished silver in the moonlight. _

_His name was a gasp on her lips, and she reached out to make sure he was real and not a figment of her imagination. Jon reached for her hand too, grasping it and shocking her when he pulled her into a kiss, his mouth harsh. _

_“Arya,” he had gasped hoarsely and leaned against her as if in pain. She had stared at him in wonder, then took off the Targaryen cloak Aegon had wrapped around her shoulders earlier and pulled it closed around him. She had never spoken of that night to anyone._

Her eyes burned, the tears clinging to the corners. "Jon..."

He brushed his lips to hers lightly, lingering and slow before Arya finally deepened the kiss, pulling his head down for better access. 

With a groan, Jon took her mouth, his tongue seeking and exploring with an urgency that drove her wild. His fingers curled in her hair, tilting her head just right to launch his assault on her mouth. Arya moaned and pressed herself against him. It was too much, but she wanted it all.

Jon's hand squeezed her bottom as he bit down on her lip and Arya felt her body respond to the desperation in his movements. Her hands slipped underneath his tunic, smoothing over his chest and stomach hard with muscle, his skin burning hot under her touch, heart beat racing with hers.

She gasped when Jon's hand slipped inside her breeches, sifting through the damp curls between her legs. Arya moaned in his mouth and leaned into him for support. 

She cried out when his calloused finger found her clit and quickly plied it, his hooded eyes watching her from under his dark lashes, as she gasped and writhed, the pleasure building. _She was nearly there!_

Jon pulled his hand away before she could come, and grabbed the hand that had automatically reached down to bring herself off. She growled in frustration, but Jon was already turning them around, lifting and placing her on the edge of the table.

He kissed her neck, sucking on the spot just below her ear, making Arya's toes curl. "Gods, I need you Arya." he murmured against her ear, his beard chafing the sensitive skin. She arched against him, her fingers making quick work of the laces of his breeches while Jon himself worked on hers, their fingers urgent and clumsy.

He entered her without preamble, thrusting himself so deep inside her, Arya shuddered. With a grunt, he rammed in and out of her again. Arya pushed her breeches to her ankles, managing to pull it off one leg before Jon impatiently pulled her legs up, hooking them around his hips. She might have laughed about the breeches hanging off one ankle, but then he thrust so hard and deep she choked back a scream.

Her body was thrumming with emotions she had never felt before, and she buried the wash of guilt that the thought brought.

Her body arched when Jon’s hands pushed up her tunic and cupped her breasts, his mouth finding hers again as he set the tempo of his thrusts, driving all thought from her mind.

He swallowed the cry on her lips as she came, her body quaking with pleasure, and with a couple more thrusts Jon followed her, biting down on her bottom lip as he roared and came inside.

Their ragged breathing was the only noise in the room, as they held on to each other desperately, still locked in position and unwilling to let go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I guess my oneshot got out of hand. There is a lot more to this story, and I guess I cannot tell you a part of it without opening a pandora's box of the other aspects. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> I apologise to the Arya/ Aegon shippers but this was inevitable in this story.
> 
> The lyrics are from Lewis Capaldi's 'Bruises'
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have taken down the Arya/ Aegon tag because I don't want to create any harsh feelings within that community. If you were here for Arya/ Aegon, please heed the tags.

**Jon**

She was in his head, consuming his heart, crawling in his veins and lingering sweetly on his tongue and Jon went about his day burning with the need to hold her again. Despite the desperation, he hadn’t felt so alive in a long time.

It was exhilarating. Even the way she was trying to blatantly avoid him couldn’t dampen his spirits, it only served to make him hungrier. She was right to avoid him; he would consume her. 

The guilt had kept him awake at night. Or maybe it was the way she had pulled on her clothes and slipped out of his chambers; his seed still warm between her thighs. That alone had made him want to take her all over again. 

With the new found vigour, however, he found himself suddenly thrust into matters he would have otherwise avoided. Like the fact that Bran needed to find enough coin to build a port at Hardhome and facilitate trade between the North and the Free folk. Or how Aegon had managed to secure enough coin to rebuild the Red Keep.

“Don’t be ridiculous. If you take all this gold from Illyrio, you will be indebted to him forever.” Tyrion had come to him with this information, and Jon was tempted to tell the Lord Hand that he couldn't care less. He still found himself in Aegon's solar later that afternoon. 

Jon didn't want to see the King. He didn't want to face the guilt and shame, or the lack of it. 

The reality was worse. When he saw Aegon sitting there with his crown, looking every bit of the Targaryen King he was, jealousy had reared its ugly head. Arya was his Queen, his confidant, his wife, _his_ _lover_.

"I assume Tyrion sent you." Aegon let the letter in his hand roll shut and Jon blinked away the rage in his eyes.

"No, we were merely talking. I come on my own behalf."

“I plan on repaying him back soon enough. He has proved himself an ally in all our times of hardships.” Aegon looked frustrated.

“He is a self-serving tradesman, Aegon. All he cares about is satisfying his own greed.”

“I think I can judge that for myself,” the King snapped, then took a breath to calm himself before he continued, “I know what he’s capable of, Jon. But I cannot borrow from the Iron Bank, we barely made payments on all the crown's outstanding debts.”

“And who ‘helped’ you with that as well? There will be a price to pay for all this help he seems to be offering you."

He pursed his lips, dark purple eyes narrowing. "You seem to forget that Illyrio has been my benefactor since my time in Essos. I am not stupid enough to believe he does this out of love for me. But like Varys, he is interested in the good of the realm."

"How will you settle _his_ debts? A magister is a powerful person.”

"The King of Westeros is also powerful."

"Yes, and the Magister would surely benefit from having such a king indebted to him. What could he ask, that wouldn't be granted?"

“_No more_—” Aegon slammed his palm on the table. His purple eyes were dark with anger. “No more than I am willing to part with. Now, if you feel entitled to advise me on matters of governance, take the responsibility that comes with it and put your views forward at the Small Council. But I won’t have you insulting me, Jon. Bare that in mind.”

Jon flexed his burnt hand and stayed silent.

They stared at each other before Aegon sat back down in his chair. “Do I make myself clear, Prince Jon?”

He clenched his jaw and finally said, “Perfectly, Your Grace.”

__ 

His burnt had itched as he swung the sword toward his opponent. Valyrian steel sang as they sprung apart. 

Edric Dayne may have joined the Kingsguard if Aegon had not forbidden it, for fear that it would mean the end of House Dayne. But the young lord fought as well as a knight of the Kingsguard.

They had been parrying for a while and Jon could feel the sweat beading under his leathers. He spied Arya watching them from the covered bridge and quickly turned to block, knocking Dayne sideways with his elbow before he brought his dagger to his throat. As honourable as they came too.

Dayne smiled and yielded and Jon thanked him for the exercise, already hurrying toward the bridge. He caught the ends of her grey skirts whipping around the corner of the stairs, and sped up.

His hand closed above her elbow. “Arya.”

She whipped around. “I’m busy Jon.”

He leaned close. "If you run from me, I will chase you."

"You cannot." The pulse at the base of her neck hammered wildly. "I married Aegon before the old gods, and they watch."

He saw the war in her eyes and let go of her arm. "The gods have wronged us, sister. They brought me back from the dead and spat in my face. They see my heart, and laugh as they play their cruel games."

"They brought you back for a reason."

"They promised me you."

"I was already promised to another then."

His heart burned. "Go then, to your _husband_. But you will not be rid of me Arya, nor I you."

Arya took a small step back, then lifted her chin, steeled her eyes and walked away with all the grace of a queen. 

_Go. Run, little sister. But know that I will always find you._

He may not be Ned Stark's bastard anymore, but he _was_ a bastard, of the very worst sort.

___

Jon listened. The Council had a lot to say, big things and small and some so petty he wondered why he had allowed Aegon to goad him into attending. 

As soon as Jon brought forth the issue of the loan from Illyrio, the Lords shut him down. They would prefer a creditor who would sit on the loan and never demand repayment, than the one who would. Jon had resisted the urge to knock some sense into them. The fools would be paying the interest for generations.

But then the matter of the Lyseni pirates accosting trade ships in the Narrow Sea was brought forth, and a demand was made to nip the vermin in the bud. 

When the council adjourned, Jon had a distinct feeling that he had achieved none of what he had meant to by attending this day’s session. The Lord's dispersed and he wandered to the window looking out into the yard.

"Matters of the state is dry work, my prince," Arianne Martell said handing him a goblet of wine.

Jon took it, but did not drink. "I didn't know you sat on the Small Council, princess."

"I don't. I'm here on invitation of the King and as substitute for my cousin, Nymeria who is with child."

"Indeed. I hope your cousin finds herself sufficiently comfortable in Winterfell." Jon turned to her. "I'm sure his grace realizes that a perceptive woman like yourself, is a boon to the council."

Arianne smiled. "You flatter me, Prince Jon. I believe it is in the nature of women to be more perspective." She curled her fingers over Jon's and brought the goblet to his lips. Jon drank, his eyes on her. 

She smiled when Jon brought the empty goblet down. "It was not flattery I was aiming for. But you are right. So, then I must ask you, what do you think of our Essosi benefactor, princess?"

"A benevolent and generous one, don't you think?"

"Indeed. Almost too much."

She titled her head. "The King is aware of the risks, yes. But the worse choice is still better than the worst."

"Do you think the Iron Bank is the worst choice?"

"No, I don't. But Aegon is...rather difficult to persuade."

"Then you and I must find a way."

Arianne chuckled and brushed her fingers playfully over grey doublet Jon wore. "You presume I hold sway over the King?"

"More than some."

Her black eyes glinted. "Your sister holds his heart." _And mine._

"And yet you are here and she is not."

"Jon."

Arianne studied him carefully with her dark eyes before she turned to the King.

"I am happy to see you take interest in matter of the state, Jon. Would you like to join us for a drink in my solar?" Aegon smiled, but the warmth did not touch his eyes.

“You must excuse me, your grace. I am required elsewhere.” And then he bowed and exited the chamber, wondering if Aegon was going to regret bringing Jon back into these games again.

  
  


  
  


* * *

**Arya**

Every day that passed, she was on edge. Her breath would catch in her throat when she saw Jon in the halls and her chest would tighten guiltily when she saw Aegon at the table. 

This had to stop, but she knew not how. Jon kept his distance, and she was grateful for it. But things had changed between them in ways that made her ache. 

His eyes seemed to possess her when she found them on her, his presence in the room would make her pulse quicken and her skin hot. 

Something had shifted fundamentally and she didn't know how to put it back.

Aegon had been surprisingly absent from her bed for the past few days, and she was grateful for that too. Even if it worried her. He was drinking most nights, and she tried to keep the flagon of wine away from him at the table. 

It had not deterred him. Aegon drank in council, or when he sat with his advisors or Arianne. He was almost always drinking with Arianne recently. 

And wine seemed to be in abundance. The preparations for Bran's Wedding to Meera Reed had brought even more to the castle. In a fit of defiance, Arya threw herself into the wedding preparations wholly.

She had come to the kitchen in search of Cook, when she found Jon seated by the fire, one leg crossed over the other as he nursed a horn of ale. He saw her, and raised his horn in salute.

"I am beginning to hate the sight of a drinking man." She said, and gasped when he upturned the horn in the next minute.

"Can't have you hating me, little sister."

"Stop calling me that. I'm neither little, nor your sister."

Jon smirked. "Lover, then?"

She looked around wildly, wondering if someone was lurking in the corners. "Are you mad?!"

"There is no one about, I'm afraid." He uncrossed his leg and leaned forward, toward her. His nostrils flared and his pupils dilated. And Arya could feel the heat radiate off of him.

"You look ravishing. What is the occasion?" His fingers slid along the silk of her skirts, and her breath came out shaky. Arya stepped away.

"There was a white raven from the Citadel. Spring is here, and Aegon has called for a feast tonight."

He leaned back, face darkening. "So, you look ravishing for him."

She sighed. "You are drunk."

"Aegon may best me yet. If I did marry Arianne, I think I will be drowned in the stuff." He stood up and ran his fingers through his hair.

"I don't know what she's playing at. I'm worried," she admitted.

Jon looked at her, and for a moment she saw her brother. Concerned, loving, kind. Then he was gone.

"You shouldn't be. He's a man grown, and a King besides. If he can't govern himself, he shouldn't govern the kingdoms."

And then he was gone.

___

The feast was splendid. And after the many toasts, and thanks given to the Gods, both Old and New; the musicians played, and the singers sang and the Great Hall came alive with dancers and performers.

The King's party had attracted many a performer hoping to make coin. Fools and tricksters and even a snake charmer from Dorne, who claimed to drink the venom so that he may never fall victim to a bite.

Arya was fascinated by the Pentoshi tradesmen who were Aegon's guests from White Harbour. They regaled her with stories of their voyage to Qarth and Slaver's Bay, that was under the slaver's rule at present. But the slaves overthrew them frequently establishing temporary governments before they toppled again. There had been no stable rule there since Daenerys Targaryen. They also had news of Lyseni pirates raiding Essosi trade ships at sea.

When Ned Dayne found her, she was sitting with The Flint, listening to him speak about her father, and her great grandmother, Arya Flint. After whom she was named.

"Come, you must dance at least one dance with me." Ned insisted, so she went with him.

The song was joyous, and the steps made her feel like a little girl again, dancing with Robb, or Jon... 

She found him at the back, his hand resting casually on his sword as he watched her with his dark eyes, so intense. She missed a step and Ned steadied her graciously. She thanked him, a flush creeping down her neck and her eyes flew back to Jon again, but he was not there.

The tempo changed and they switched partners and her traitorous eyes sought him out again. Another switch and Ned smiled at her as they circled each other again, then lifted her in a swift motion, and she laughed lightly.

The smile faded when she turned and Jon faced her. She curtsied and slid her foot forward and he circled her like prey.

He was so close, too close. The silk of her skirts sang as they slithered and slapped his legs. His hand brushed hers innocently, deliberately. Branding her when they curled at her waist and lifted her in the air. His eyes on her, imprisoning her, claiming her.

She couldn't look away if she wanted to. Her insides were on fire, and she felt faint with the heat. It was brilliance and madness, and everything she couldn’t have.

She burnt hotter and felt naked, and she danced for him, above him. When he writhed and moaned her name and his voice twisted her stomach in knots—

"Arya."

She snapped her attention to her new partner. Aegon. Her husband. 

And she wanted to scream.

Instead she took his hand, and dragged him out of the Great Hall. Before the dance was over, before everyone. She kissed him hard, glad he didn't taste like the bottom of a wine barrel. So, she kissed him again, more desperately.

He kissed her back, like a man starving and she felt the thrill of want. He pulled her toward the Great Keep, to their chambers, but she couldn't make it that far, so she took him to the Sept, dark and deserted in favour of the festivities in the Hall.

She would make her mother's gods her witnesses, they would see her love her husband.

Aegon fumbled with her laces, but she reached for his breeches instead, tossing up her skirts so he could slide inside her. 

"Gods Arya, slow down." He whispered breathlessly and pressed her down on the floor.

But she didn't want to wait. And dark grey eyes haunted her. _No, no, no. no._

"Now, please, _now Aegon_."

So he shoved inside her. She gasped and shut her eyes at the suddenness, the fullness of the invasion. But behind her eyelids was a dark head buried at her throat, so she whimpered and kept them open.

He thrust into her, slowly at first, and she clawed at his back, begging for more. So, he gave it to her. She pulled at his blond hair, kissed him again, and choked on a groan when he slammed his hips against hers. 

Light hair, purple eyes. She reminded herself. But she saw dark and grey.

The gods watched her, and condemned her.

He kissed her as he came, loud, as he released himself in her. And she laid still when he was done, for she could not. 

"Did you not...?"

"I did." A tear rolled down her cheek, then another.

"But—_Arya, gods_. Did I hurt you?"

He pulled out of her and she winced. Her body ached everywhere, but her heart ached more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been writing and rewriting this chapter for months now that I have notes worth a couple of chapters. What I'm trying to say is that it was hard, it was very hard to write.   
But it was this story that pushed me to write and I don't want to abandon it, so here goes.  
Thank you for reading :)

**Author's Note:**

> This was a muse, or a really stubborn thought that demanded to be put down before it was forgotten, take your pick
> 
> And because there is something very powerful in the Jon/ Arya pairing that cannot be ignored. 
> 
> This was intended as a oneshot, although it may not have ended very well. So maybe I will add more to this sometime in the future.  
Title inspired by the Bryan Adam's song.
> 
> Please leave your thoughts :)


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